Mirror, ink and rabbit glue.

i feel like death is near, not
the calm coin, Chinese
and a century worn out
in my hand ,
the
mind
that holds,
I know it as it
prowls
the handle
of my kitchen knife
the carrot a wrist, the killer
outside
garrote
with
in
twisting my heart tight
to breaking- fatal as love
rigid as a glass,
vibrating an unseen train traveling
with man and strange man
after stranger, like daffodils
a green that aspires for nothing but
hope strange men, and man hope
that
the bar car opens, before, the
trip brings them all through the silhouette
of the last town
before the diesel locomotive eventually
disappears in to some
weedy plain
or minor hill.